


D.T.R. (Define the Relationship)

by meeks00



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: An Embarrassing Amount Of Fluff, Anal Sex, BOTTOMI, Blow Jobs, Bottom Sakusa Kiyoomi, DTR, Define the Relationship Talk, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Friends With Benefits, Good-Morning Blow Jobs, Komori's eyebrows are a side character, M/M, Morning Sex, POV Miya Atsumu, Top Miya Atsumu, but not really, hand holding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 19:40:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29738883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meeks00/pseuds/meeks00
Summary: Atsumu suffers through the D.T.R. (define-the-relationship) talk first with Komori and then with Sakusa.__“So you -” Komori pauses, eyeing first Sakusa and then Atsumu. Then he goes on, “You sleep together?”“Yes,” Sakusa says, because sometimes he’s indifferent to the point of obliviousness, leaving Atsumu to stew in the shit alone.“And you,” again, another stupid pause because Komori is an asshole, “don’t sleep with anyone else?”“No,” Sakusa says.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 68
Kudos: 525
Collections: Among Friends Server Valentine's Day Fic Exchange





	D.T.R. (Define the Relationship)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LunaMoon_28](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LunaMoon_28/gifts).



> This fic is for the lovely Luna, who is always a joy to scream with about SakuAtsu and jam with on Discord. I hope you like this!

Komori is a motherfucking, shit-stirring cunt, and Atsumu’s gonna cut a bitch if he has to sit through an entire goddamn dinner staring at his polka dot eyebrows across the table. 

In response to Atsumu’s scowl, those eyebrows knit together like little cells trying to fuse into one rather than splitting into two, and it’s so unnatural that Atsumu’s scowl becomes a cringe. 

“So you -” Komori pauses, eyeing first Sakusa and then Atsumu. Then he goes on, “You sleep together?” 

“Yes,” Sakusa says, because sometimes he’s indifferent to the point of obliviousness, leaving Atsumu to stew in the shit alone. 

“And you,” again, another stupid pause because Komori is an asshole, “don’t sleep with anyone else?” 

“No,” Sakusa says. He takes a bite of bruschetta. 

Atsumu uses his free left hand to give him a napkin, which Sakusa takes with his free right hand so he can dab at the corners of his mouth like a dainty little bitch. Atsumu can’t help that he grins a little. He’s a cute dainty little bitch. 

When he looks back across the table, Komori has his chin resting on his palm as he gazes back at them.

“And you hold hands like this all the time?” Komori asks next. 

Atsumu squeezes Sakusa’s hand under the table between them out of spite. “Just spit out the real fuckin’ question or shut yer trap already, ya pryin’ scrub,” he snaps through a sharp smile.

“Rude, ’Tsumu,” Sakusa says, but he squeezes Atsumu’s hand back.

Komori laughs, and it’s cute, and Atsumu hates it. Komori’s such a goddamn weirdo sometimes. It must run in the family. 

Atsumu glances at Sakusa, who’s absently taking another bite of his appetizer, but it’s clear his attention is catching on the bits of tomato dotting his plate. Case in point. Weirdo. 

Still, Atsumu uses his free hand to swap their plates because Sakusa hates the mess. He gets a small uptilt at the mouth in return and feels satisfaction unfold in his chest.

“But you’re not dating,” Komori says. 

When Atsumu looks back, those eyebrows finally split again, and they climb up toward Komori’s hairline. They’d probably arch if they weren’t just two dots nearly as small as Sakusa’s beauty marks on a mission to journey into the light brown jungle of Komori’s middle hair part.

“No,” Sakusa says. 

“But you,” again, another stupid pause, “don’t sleep with anyone else? Either of you?” 

“No,” Sakusa says. 

Atsumu just shakes his head, but he glances sidelong at Sakusa again, the corners of his mouth tugging upward without his consent at Sakusa’s quick and easy answer. 

“Okay,” Komori replies. “Okay. But why?”

“What do you mean ‘why’?” Sakusa asks, finally looking up from his plate. He’s polished off his piece of bruschetta and sits back, tugging Atsumu’s hand into his lap as he goes. 

“I mean,” Komori says slowly, like they’re the idiots here, “why aren’t you seeing other people?”

“I hate people,” Sakusa says. 

“What he said,” Atsumu says, shrugging, because it’s as good an answer as any. 

It’s not like he’s going to pour out his heart and soul when he tries not to think too hard about things that might cause him undue misery. But Komori’s line of questioning is simple enough compared to Sakusa’s particular brand of interrogation. It seems some things _don’t_ run in the family. 

“Sure,” Komori says. “But you don’t hate each other?”

Atsumu looks at Sakusa, and Sakusa looks back. “He’s okay,” they say in unison. 

Komori’s eyebrows try to fuse again, but their waiter comes to bring their food. Atsumu takes the opportunity to shift the conversation to a better topic, like how much MSBY is going to smash EJP into the tape this weekend. 

///

Later, Atsumu will concede, if only to himself, that it was probably his fault they landed on this topic in the first place. 

He had followed when Sakusa got up from the table to wash his hands and cornered him in the restaurant bathroom. And then he hadn’t let Sakusa go until he’d finished blowing him right there in the confines of that stupidly posh restroom with Sakusa’s cousin sitting alone waiting for them at a table in the dining area. 

Not that Sakusa had complained. Instead, he backed up easily enough against the tiled wall, accepted the hem of his own shirt between his teeth, and nodded sharply when Atsumu told him not to get too loud. 

But, like the little asshole he never claimed he wasn’t, Atsumu took his own order like a challenge and did his best to try to get Sakusa to cry out loud enough to echo in the little bathroom. 

Overall, it didn’t take long. Sakusa could get surprisingly loud in bed, despite being pretty tight-lipped outside of it. Atsumu takes it as a compliment, as is his due as fuck buddy or friend-who-fucks or whatever it is that he is. 

Afterward, Sakusa had scowled at him through his reflection in the mirror, his cheeks flushed red, when someone knocked on the door — _rap._ Then quieter, _rap rap_.

They’d walked out, only a little slumped from shame, and there was Komori standing in the hallway, his eyes wide. 

Sakusa had seemed relieved instead of horrified as he nodded to his cousin. Then he simply said that the bathroom was clean enough, held his freshly washed hand out for Atsumu to take with his own freshly washed hand, and then led the way back to the table. 

Atsumu spared a mildly concerned glance backward at Komori, whose eyes and eyebrows followed them until they were out of sight. 

To be fair to Komori, Atsumu hadn’t necessarily been invited to their little family dinner, which Komori and Sakusa plan every time they’re in the same city. So maybe Atsumu’s presence was a bit of a surprise.

It had been their one day off after a couple of weeks of straight travel and team functions, and Atsumu had nothing better to do all day. 

Plus, the pre-dinner blowie had kind of been retaliation or repayment after Sakusa had been the one who’d pinned Atsumu down first thing this morning. Well, pinned against the headboard, anyway. 

Sakusa always gets up early, hits the head for a shower, makes coffee, and then wanders back to rouse Atsumu at a more decent hour. But this time, he’d had something else in mind. 

Still drowsy, Atsumu woke to Sakusa’s mouth on his dick. And Atsumu was moaning before he even blinked open his eyes, hard and aching, bucking up against firm hands holding him down by the hips, thumbs pressing into the divots where he’s sensitive. 

“Omi,” he’d slurred, tossing his head back and squeezing his shut eyes again even as he wound a hand into those soft, shower-fresh curls. “Omi, Omi, Omi.”

Sakusa had pulled off, slowly, sucking as he went, his tongue laving in kitten licks until his lips popped off the head, and with it, the rest of Atsumu’s dreams of falling back to sleep. Because he opened his eyes again and looked down, saw that mouth pink and irritated from sucking him off rather than something stupid he’d said, and was suddenly wide awake. 

Sakusa nodded forward in a commanding sort of gesture, so Atsumu pushed himself up onto his elbows.

“Against the headboard, please,” Sakusa said. 

“So polite, Omi-kun,” Atsumu replied, voice still deep and scratchy from sleep.

“Now,” Sakusa said, growing impatient as Atsumu just stared and stared back at him, admiring the long lines of him as Sakusa sat back on his heels. 

“There he is,” Atsumu said, but he huffed out a fond laugh and did as he was told.

Sakusa must’ve prepped in the shower, because all he did was drop a bottle of lube beside them, rip open and slide a condom down over Atsumu’s hard, saliva-slick cock, and slick him up. And then he hovered there, knees bent on either side of Atsumu’s hips. Beneath Atsumu’s hands, Sakusa’s thighs were thick, muscled lines tightening under Atsumu’s palms as he traced them up to settle on the cradle of either side of Sakusa’s waist. 

Sakusa sucked a breath in through his teeth as he sank down, guided by Atsumu’s solid grip. He didn’t pause, didn’t tease, just ground his hips down and lightly up to fuck himself into the stretch as Atsumu swallowed, watching his cock disappear, feeling Sakusa’s hole forced open and squeezing past the rim with every inch taken deep. He struggled to keep his own hips steady until Sakusa was ready for him, knocking the back of his head into the headboard with a groan when Sakusa had him inside all the way to the hilt. 

“Omi,” he breathed out. “Omi, fuck. Ya feel so good.” 

Instead of responding, Sakusa took Atsumu’s hands from his waist and placed them on top of the headboard. 

Atsumu watched Sakusa’s face as he gripped the wood, clenching his fingers until his knuckles turned white while Sakusa slowly pressed up onto his knees, the hot, slick slide of him torturous as Atsumu’s abs strained with forced control at the sensation. 

And then Sakusa sank down again, moving slowly, riding Atsumu’s cock, eyes shut, lips parted, hands gripping tight to Atsumu’s shoulders to steady himself. But his eyes opened again, like he didn’t want to miss a second of Atsumu’s expressions shifting, as Atsumu moaned and repeated his name into the morning light, soft first, then louder, louder: “Omi, Omi. Omi.”

Sakusa hadn’t let Atsumu come until he did. He liked that sometimes — taking what he wanted, what he needed. He’d pulled Atsumu’s hand from the headboard when he was getting close, let Atsumu jerk him off, and said, “Faster, Atsumu,” in a choked voice, and then, “‘Tsumu, ‘Tsumu,” a pleading mantra until he came, spurting across Atsumu’s chest. 

He’d tipped his forehead against Atsumu’s, his curls damp from sweat as he panted to catch his breath. Atsumu bit his lip to give him time, to find patience when all he had inside him was sheer want, _need_. 

And then Sakusa blinked his eyes open, and his lips crashed into Atsumu’s, and he was moving again, faster, harder, taking just a little bit more as if Atsumu wasn’t always ready to give and give as much as he could. 

When he came, it was with Sakusa’s tongue in his mouth, Sakusa’s hands cradling his face, Sakusa’s name in his mind. Atsumu had forced his eyes open in that moment just before his vision whited out with blinding pleasure until it was all he could see — dark eyes and bright light and nothing else. 

He loved waking up most mornings just like this - thinking, simply, easily, that he needed nothing else. It happened more than he ever thought he’d get to have. 

Afterward, they’d lazed in bed for a little longer, Atsumu drifting back in and out of sleep. And, later, after a day of leisure making breakfast and then shooting the shit over rewatching matches and a movie and doing nothing, when he saw Sakusa fitting himself into a nice suit, how could Atsumu help but tag along after seeing that ass in those pants? 

It ended up being a great day overall, one of the best, really, since Sakusa had said he was going to stay over later too. 

That was, until Komori came back from the bathroom during dinner, eyes still wide, and apparently armed with a slew of stupid questions he’d apparently thought up while he’d been taking a piss. 

It wasn’t that Atsumu never had the same questions in mind. He did, actually — all the time. But it was that he wasn’t sure he’d like the answers — at least on Sakusa’s part — if Atsumu ever asked them outright. 

Still, it hadn’t turned out as badly as he’d feared, and now Atsumu’s basking in a bit of relief. 

So, yeah, Atsumu will concede, if only to himself, that it was his own fault that the questions came up. But he thought that, after dinner, that would be the end of it. He’d thought that they wouldn’t have to bring it up ever again, especially now, in a moment when he’s laying down on top of his fuck buddy or friend-who-fucks or whatever Sakusa is in his dimly lit dorm room, kissing up along Sakusa’s chest. 

Atsumu likes to go slow sometimes, when Sakusa declares he’ll stay over, just because he can, because they have the time, because Sakusa shuts his eyes just like that and then pries them open again right after like he can’t stop watching Atsumu take care of him like this. 

But then Sakusa blurts out, “That was strange, right?”

“What?” Atsumu asks around another sucking kiss on soft skin over hard muscle as he trails his lips up from Sakusa’s abs to his pecs. 

“Motoya,” Sakusa says. “His questions.”

Atsumu keeps his lips pressed below one budding nipple for a moment longer, hoping to distract Sakusa from his line of questioning, but then Sakusa taps at his head instead of gripping his hair. 

Atsumu sighs and rests his chin in the warm spot his lips vacated to look up into dark eyes reflecting pinpricks of light. 

“Hate ta break it to ya,” he says, “but your cousin’s always weird. Must be a family trait.” 

“Shut up,” Sakusa replies. Still, he cards his fingers through Atsumu’s hair, brushing it back from where it had started falling over his forehead. 

It’s a lazy motion, slow, less about heat than the slow burn of just being together like this. Atsumu shifts on top of him, tempering the urgency of the hot line of his dick against the sheets. It seems like Sakusa’s chatty tonight, and as much as Atsumu likes getting his dick wet, he’ll easily admit to liking the relaxed nights together too. 

“What of it?” Atsumu asks to prompt him further. 

If he doesn’t, Sakusa will be an absent shit the entire time Atsumu’s fucking him, if they get to that tonight, which kind of diminishes the satisfaction of it. He prefers when Sakusa’s a needy mess, thinking of nothing but him. Atsumu has never denied the fact that he likes the hard-won attention of MSBY’s most reclusive player, as well as the thought that his own fat cock renders his partner completely useless.

“He hasn’t had a problem with me fucking anyone before,” Sakusa says.

Atsumu jerks his head away from Sakusa’s hand, pushing up onto his elbows in indignation. “What? That was Komori’s way of startin’ beef with me? His eyebrows are so fuckin’ confusin’. I didn’t even realize he was gettin’ all bothered! I thought _I_ was the one gettin’ all bothered.” 

Sakusa has this weird way of somehow combining a smile with a frown, and it’s always cute as fuck. “That’s not what I meant, you moron,” he says, but his voice is quiet still, steady in the soft wash of light over them both.

Appeased at the tone even though the words were as caustic as usual, Atsumu fits himself back down in the V of Sakusa’s legs. “Oh.” He thinks on Sakusa’s words, gets a different kind of annoyed at them, and says, “What, you’ve fucked that many guys and I’m the one he’s got a problem with? What the hell?”

“God, shut _up_ , Atsumu,” Sakusa says with a groan. He kicks his knee into Atsumu’s side until Atsumu whines and rolls off of him. “I just meant - he’s never really questioned it.” 

He grows quiet, and Atsumu knows enough by now to let him think on his next line of statements or questions. Sakusa will get there, and it’s nice that they can do this now, lay side by side on their backs, squished on the dorm bed. 

Atsumu doesn’t even mind that his arm is hanging off, knuckles just barely dragging along the carpet. Dim lights always make him sleepy, and he finds himself staring up at the pebbled ceiling with hooded eyes, lulled into peace and drifting to the sound of Sakusa’s even breaths beside him.

“I guess I haven’t brought anyone to our family dinners before,” Sakusa says finally. 

Atsumu has nearly fallen asleep by then, but, at that, he turns his head. He squints his eyes open to look at Sakusa, only to find that Sakusa’s already turned onto his side to stare right back. 

Atsumu wonders briefly if he’s been drifting between sleep and wakefulness for a while - and if Sakusa’s been staring at him in all that time. 

And then he registers Sakusa’s admission. He feels a smile pull across his lips at the thought that he might be Sakusa’s first something — even if he’s just a first tag-along to one of Sakusa’s little family dinners.

Then Sakusa asks, “You’re really not seeing anyone else?” 

“No,” Atsumu says, his voice already raspy with sleep. “‘Course not.”

Sakusa brushes two fingers at Atsumu’s fringe so it doesn’t tickle at the corner of his eye. “Why?”

“It’s like ya were sayin’ earlier. I hate people too,” Atsumu says. 

Generally, he doesn’t mind answering Sakusa’s questions. Sakusa gets like this sometimes. He’s easy-going outside of his attention to certain things, like cleanliness and hygiene and so on, but sometimes he’ll latch onto something outside of his set world view and pick and poke and pry at it until he understands it enough to settle again. It’s pretty weird, but weird can be cute, and Atsumu’s not even trying to temper the smile that grows on his face with each subsequent question, even though he doesn’t really want to answer. 

He’s thought about that question a lot anyway. People come onto him sometimes — often, really — and not always fans either. But he’s never been interested, not since seeing Sakusa again for the first time since high school. And definitely not since fucking him for the first time too. 

“Sure,” Sakusa allows. “People are terrible. But - ” He pauses. 

Atsumu reaches for his hand, and he pulls it between them so he can massage at Sakusa’s knuckles with his thumb. 

Sakusa goes on, “But you could. I see people approach you all the time.”

Atsumu’s fingers freeze. The idea of Sakusa seeing him propositioned, numbers on slips of paper pressed into his palm, men and women smiling up at him in a pointed way even Sakusa wouldn’t misunderstand — it makes his chest tighten. 

“And?” he says. 

“And you don’t ever fuck them?” Sakusa asks, pulling his hand away. 

Atsumu stares after it, growing suddenly uncomfortable, his palm cold in the absence of Sakusa’s sleepy warmth. “No.” 

“Yeah, but why _not_?” Sakusa asks, his tone growing urgent. 

And in those few seconds when Atsumu’s caught off guard by Sakusa pulling his hand away, when the current of his voice drags Atsumu from the easy comfort of drowsiness, when the line of questioning throws them swiftly and suddenly off of the precarious precipice between whatever it is that they are and - something _else_ , Atsumu says without thinking, “Because I have you.” 

He immediately feels himself turn red. Though it’s dim with just the bedside lamp shining on them, the two mere pinpricks of light reflecting in Sakusa’s dark eyes make Atsumu feel like he’s under the heat of the brightest spotlight on a world stage. 

He’s all in now, he guesses, and he looks away and flops onto his back again, folding his hands together on his chest. He stares up at the ceiling and says, “I don’t want anyone else.” 

It’s quiet again after that as Sakusa digests his response. Atsumu wonders how he’ll react. To be honest, only to himself, anyway, Atsumu has wondered for a while what Sakusa’s reaction would be to an admission like that. 

He hadn’t known that Sakusa wasn’t fucking anyone else either until dinner tonight, thanks to Komori, but Atsumu had been very careful about disclosing the lack of his own extra bed partners himself. 

He knows how this works — this kind of wavy-lined thing between professionalism, friendship, and — whatever it could become. What they have, what they’re doing, isn’t new. It isn’t unique to them. 

He knows there’s a time limit for how long this can last when one of them will inevitably step too far over the line past professionalism, past friendship, and either into something _else_ or something devastating. With a hint of disappointment winding its way through his chest, Atsumu realizes he’d hoped they’d have a bit more time. 

They crossed so easily over the first line — teammates to friends — and then they completely leaped over the next. Now, here they are, stepping back and forth around so many crooked lines like the floor is lava and they’ve got to stay on steady ground or fall and melt to death. 

Atsumu used to play that game very seriously with Osamu when they were kids, to the point of shoving and elbowing, black eyes and tears. And that childhood fear of misstepping first, of falling first, remains, even today. Especially with this. Especially with Sakusa. 

So Atsumu’s been careful. He hasn’t admitted to things before Sakusa has. He hasn’t crossed any lines without knowing that Sakusa is ready to cross them with him — so that if one falls, they both do, and no one is left a victor in a game that never really has a winner. 

But Sakusa just has a way of pulling the truth from him. Like when he’d straight-up asked Atsumu one day: _“Do you want to fuck me?”_

Of course the answer had been ‘yes.’ Atsumu had been prepared to dodge and evade, to keep their game of high-fucking-stakes tension going. Instead, under the focus of those dark eyes reflecting pinpricks of light from the overhead gym lights, he’d said without thinking, _“Hell yeah I do, Omi.”_

And the rest was history. A few months in, and here they are, and, again, Atsumu’s unwittingly stepping over lines first at Sakusa’s behest, his heart thundering in his chest — ready to fall. 

But then, Sakusa says, “I’m not sleeping with anyone else either.”

Atsumu’s exhale is almost a sigh of relief, even though he already learned that earlier. Still, the admission, right now in the dim light with Sakusa staring a hole into the side of his head, saying the words again just for him, feels different - especially like this, laying side by side in a too-small bed with just a bedside lamp’s glow falling over them. 

“And,” Sakusa adds, “I don’t want anyone else.”

Then his hand slides over onto Atsumu’s chest, into Atsumu’s waiting palm. 

Atsumu finds himself smiling at the ceiling as he squeezes it, and he doesn’t notice when he falls — simply, easily — into a deep sleep. 

///

When Sakusa brings up the next little family dinner, Atsumu tries to beg off, but, apparently, Komori has specifically invited Atsumu along this time. 

“Because you’re my ‘boyfriend,’” Sakusa quotes on behalf of his cousin. There’s no denial of the claim, even though Sakusa’s lip curls with disdain at the word, so a smile splits Atsumu’s in response to hearing it. 

And though Atsumu will claim, loudly and often, that he and Sakusa are boyfriends only because Atsumu had been brave enough to blow Sakusa in a public restroom and make Komori question their situation, he’ll concede, if only to himself, that Komori may have had a part to play in it all.

When they arrive — at a different restaurant this time, because Komori refuses to return to the other one — Atsumu hangs back when Sakusa heads off to wash his hands. He’s gracious like that. And he’s also incredibly thoughtful, he thinks, as he holds out a little tube while they wait for their table in the restaurant lobby. 

“I got ya - it’s this serum shit that you can put on your eyebrows ta make ‘em grow,” Atsumu says, waving his free hand vaguely at his own normal, good-looking eyebrows. 

Komori tilts his head to the side, his polka dot eyebrows furrowing on his brow like they’re trying to escape from his face. “Oh! That’s - that was thoughtful of you, Miya-san!” He accepts the tube, but then he laughs under his breath. “I actually shave my eyebrows, you know,” he admits. 

“What the fuck?” Atsumu replies, feeling his eyes grow wide.

“Yeah, like some people do an eyebrow slit. Aren’t they cute?” Komori asks with a smile, wagging his eyebrows on purpose even in the face of Atsumu’s expression of horrified bewilderment. 

Sakusa returns then, coming up to wrap his arms around Atsumu’s waist and rest his chin over his shoulder. He pecks at the line of Atsumu’s jaw beneath his ear, and Atsumu does his best to withhold his smile as Komori’s grows. 

“Of course they’re cute,” Sakusa says. “They’re your best feature.”

Atsumu cranes his neck to look first at Sakusa, then back at Komori, and just says, “You’re both weirdos. Must run in the family.” 

But, he supposes, ‘weird’ can be kind of cute. 

///

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Andie and bo for your wonderful betaing help and support! Any typos, etc., remaining were added after their beautiful eyes went over this because I can’t stop tweaking things and making more mistakes. lol
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> P.S. Feel free to hit me up on Twitter to chat — @meekswrites!


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